


Fate, Or Something Like It

by littlepluto



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Blood, F/F, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, Gratuitous Verbosity, Homestuck Appreciations Girls Week, Magic, Magical Realism, References to Canon, Vampires, featuring a vampire novel series that i made up on the spot but im now kind of invested in ig, just really....just really a lot of Romance, roxy is a genius hacker with 2 girlfriends and i would die for her but thats another story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-06 04:04:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17338247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlepluto/pseuds/littlepluto
Summary: There’s a girl standing behind the counter looking right at you.It shouldn’t need to be said, but just like her sister, she’s beautiful, maybe even more so. There’s something about her eyes, about the weight of her politely confused gaze on you, that you don’t quite know how to articulate. All the same, it’s there. Buzzing, electric, under your skin.





	Fate, Or Something Like It

**Author's Note:**

> hello i woke up super late and had to rush do all the formatting so please lmk if there's something terribly wrong  
> also happy homestuck girls appreciation week DAY 2 : FAVOURITE PAIRING its these goth gfs of course <333  
> hope u enjoy!!!!

You have dreams sometimes. Grand, sweeping dreams full of light and music and huge, towering buildings crumbling into oceans of iridescence. You dream of clouds, and a night sky populated with shimmering veins like cracks in stained glass, and when you wake up sometimes you feel so unspeakably sad you can barely breathe.  
Roxy thinks you should talk to someone about it. You think you should stop confiding in Roxy.  
Oh, it’s not as if you’re not deeply and infuriatingly aware of the shortcomings of your own flawed human consciousness- you are. Maybe not to the extent of, say, Dirk, who can scarcely speak without turning the conversation into an intensely self-deprecating- albeit interesting, from a psychological standpoint- exploration of his fractured adolescent psyche- no, not to that extent. But you’re perfectly cognisant that _shit is fucked up_ , as your brother would say, and furthermore, that you can’t do a single fucking thing about it.  
Talk to someone, says Roxy. Well, _go fuck yourself_ , says you.

It’s the day after one of these dreams, and your head is alternating between attacking itself with vicious stabbing pains, and being enveloped in a foggy blanket of cotton wool. Two cups of coffee and a shower later, you’re still not sure which is worse. Honestly, you just want to go back to bed, but something tells you it won’t do anything to help. So instead, you find strength within yourself to ask Roxy to give you a lift into town, resolved to lose yourself in a bookstore or museum or something.  
It’s packed, of course, because it’s the middle of winter break. You probably should’ve seen this coming. In fact, you’re sort of infuriated with yourself that you didn’t. Traffic moves slowly down the street leading to the centre, where your favourite bookstore is located. 

“Oh, shit, Rosie, you mind if I stop here real quick?” Roxy asks suddenly, breaking off in the middle of singing cheerfully along to Rihanna. Her eyes are on the tattoo studio up ahead- you recognise it, it’s where she got her first tattoo a couple years ago. You raise an eyebrow.  
“Do you have an appointment I didn’t know about?” you ask, and Roxy’s already indicating and pulling over to the side. It’s technically illegal to park here, but of all the things Roxy’s concerned about, easily-erasable license points are not one of them. She kills the engine, motions for you to unbuckle your seatbelt.  
“Nope, just need to drop somethin’ off to Porrim,” she said with a wink, patting her bag where you know her ever-present tablet is, and you sigh as you get out of the car. You could stay, but something tells you fresh air will do you good. Besides, if she’s being tight lipped about it, it’s probably something to do with her hacking activities, and while Roxy makes sure you’re never involved, it is sort of exciting having a sister who regularly engages in cyber battles with various governments and authorities. Perhaps being an observer here will provide you with some of the creative inspiration you’ve been sorely lacking these past couple of weeks, where everything you try to write keeps turning out nonsensical or interspersed with dream-cloud-light descriptors. Instead of prying, you ask the question most likely to actually give you an answer:  
“Who’s Po-,”

“Roxy Lalonde,” comes a voice from the doorway of the tattoo parlour, and- well. There’s a young woman standing there, smoking a cigarette and clad in a beautiful low cut dark green shirt and ripped jeans. Her hair is jet black and wavy. She’s tall, she has swirling black tattoos curving over both arms and spreading onto her chest; she’s wearing dark lipstick not entirely unlike your own, and her striking green eyes are ringed with eyeliner. She’s- yes, she’s beautiful. You were not prepared for this situation. You like to think of yourself as someone who can keep a level head in most- if not all- situations, but your brain was already feeling like it had been scooped out, blended with wool then unceremoniously dumped back into your skull, so you can’t really blamed for your sudden embarrassing incapacitation.  
Roxy, on the other hand, suffers no such humiliation. She squeals with joy and runs the last few metres forward to throw her arms around the other girl, who stubs out her cigarette and returns the embrace.  
“Porrim!” Roxy says, and pulls her tablet out of her bag. “I was just droppin’ my little sister- Rose, get over here!- off and I remembered I never sent you the thing you wanted me to do!” She’s making grabby hands at you, despite not taking her eyes off the tablet in front of her. You walk over, chin raised in the best approximation of poise you can manage, and attempt to make it seem like you weren’t just standing there frozen by Porrim’s, well, visage.  
“Rose,” Porrim says- your name, that is; she says your name, and she’s looking at you now. You think about how much your brother would be laughing at you if he was here, and wrestle your expression into cooperating. She holds out a hand adorned with spiky-looking rings, nails painted black. “Porrim Maryam, I own this place. Good to meet you.”  
“You, too,” you say, coolly but not standoffish, and shake. God, her cleavage is right there. How does Roxy do this? Stupid question- Roxy has two girlfriends. She doesn’t need to do this.  
“Ah, this might take a while,” Roxy says apologetically, still flipping through files with alarming speed. “Sorry, Rosie.”  
You wave a hand in the universal gesture for no biggie. You’re not sure you quite trust yourself to speak just yet.  
“Come in,” Porrim says, pushing herself away from the doorframe and beckoning you both in. “It’s a quiet day, and Kanaya’s minding the till anyway.”  
Kanaya?  
“Kanaya?” Roxy echoes, then brightens. “Oh! Your sister, right? Hey, she’s the same as Rose isn’t she?”  
Oh, no. If you weren’t prepared to deal with one Maryam sister, you certainly aren’t prepared to deal with two- much less one your own age. Will you be expected to make polite conversation? You’ve never set foot inside a tattoo parlour before- you’re sixteen and when Roxy came in last time you just waited in the car with a book- and you’re already feeling out of sorts-

There is a gigantic poster of cthulhu on the wall. Your misgivings vanish like water down a drain. Roxy skips right on over to a comfortable-looking couch and throws herself down, Porrim settling beside her, but you stay standing, gazing around the place. It’s warm, the room well-lit but not too bright as to set off one of your headaches, and it’s very tastefully decorated. Extra kudos for the Lovecraftian poster. Designs and art are hung over the walls, and there are portfolios on the counter, on the low coffee table in front of the couch. You’d never given serious thought to tattoos, but this- it’s really something.  
“You know, it’s really somethin’,” Roxy says, elbowing Porrim playfully. “I’ve never seen Rosie go silent so quickly. It’s all those tentacle prints.”  
You turn and regard her coolly. “Of course, you wouldn’t know- having an appreciation for art and design generally requires one to stop talking long enough to actually, well, appreciate. Unfortunate that you can never seem to reach that point.”  
Roxy flips you off, sticking her tongue out. “Just say you wanna smooch the tentacle guy and go,” she says.  
“You have such a one track mind,” you say loftily, and you could go on, but actually this room is amazing, and you need to show a little sincere appreciation to a fellow connoisseur of the eldritch and abominable. You turn your attention to Porrim, watching you and Roxy go back and forth with an amused smile. “The artistic design is very striking,” you tell her. “I like it a lot.”  
Porrim smiles at you, revealing oddly sharp canines that shine in the artificial lighting. “Thank you, but I can’t take credit for any of it. This was all Kan. Speaking of-,”  
There’s a brief movement of air from behind you, and then a voice, low and musical.  
“Sorry, I was just restocking the antibacterial spray, I hope no one- oh!”  
You turn around.  
There’s a girl standing behind the counter- amazing how she’d moved so quickly, you suppose if you weren't accustomed to Dirk and Dave flash stepping around whenever they visit it would’ve taken you by surprise- holding an empty spray bottle and looking right at you.  
It shouldn’t need to be said, but just like her sister, she’s beautiful, maybe even more so. There’s something about her eyes, about the weight of her politely confused gaze on you, that you don’t quite know how to articulate. All the same, it’s there. Buzzing, electric, under your skin.  
Porrim says something to her, Roxy calls a greeting. They go back to whatever conversation they were having. Kanaya looks at you, and you stare back. She moves out from behind the desk, setting the bottle down. She’s wearing a black turtleneck and a truly lovely red skirt. She’s still looking at you, and you realise you have no idea what your expression is doing right now. 

“The elusive Kanaya,” you find it within yourself to say, smiling slightly. She blinks at you, and her lips- painted a green like crushed emeralds- curve into an answering smile of her own.  
“I suppose I am,” she says, and you walk over to her, away from your sister’s prying. “I recognise your sister, I think, but I don’t believe we’ve ever met.”  
“We haven’t. Rose Lalonde. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She takes your outstretched hand and shakes it. Her skin is cool to the touch, and you find yourself missing the contact when she draws away again. “I admire your decorating skill,” you say, motioning to the tasteful rugs, the drapery. She blushes slightly, following your gesture.  
“Oh, that- it’s something of a hobby of mine,” she says, almost bashful. “I enjoy the calming effect of sewing and the creative challenge of embroidery.”  
“I can’t say I’ve ever tried it,” you say. The light plays over her shiny dark hair when she moves her head.  
“It’s a wonderful relaxation activity, most of the time,” she says, and you raise an eyebrow.  
“Most of the time?”  
Here, she hesitates. You see her hand brush at her skirt- deep red, form fitting, ending just above her shoes. You jump on the hint with an eagerness that surprises yourself.  
“You made this?” you ask, leaning forward to get a closer look. She nods, blushing more fervently this time.  
“It was one of my earlier projects,” she says as if she’s admitting some great secret. “As a more- seasoned seamstress, I suppose, I find many outstanding flaws with out, but it’s wearable, and- well, I think it’s alright for a first try. Making clothes can be rewarding, but invariably also frustrating.”  
“It’s more than alright,” you tell her seriously. Behind you, Roxy and Porrim are chatting up a storm. You’re almost certain the tablet and whatever pressing delivery Roxy had had to make has been entirely forgotten. “It’s lovely, and of extremely high quality- with little to no knowledge of this particular field, I understand that my opinion doesn’t exactly hold a lot of sway, but I’d even go so far as to say it looks exceedingly professional. I notice you called yourself a ‘more seasoned seamstress’- do you make a lot of clothes?”  
“Oh- I- thank you.” She fiddles with the material, and continues, “I am… something of a costumer. I make a lot of outfits for my friends. Quite a few of them enjoy LARPing. I, uh, also make costumes for my own use.”  
“I’ve never LARPed, either,” you muse, “although my older brother cosplays. I confess my lack of experience has me feeling rather inadequate on the topic of costumery.” As you speak, you notice the way Kanaya reacts to the word “cosplay”. Bingo.  
“I, too, have not joined in with their role playing sessions,” she says, smoothing her skirt again. “But I will admit I have something of a guilty pleasure for, uh-,”  
“Are you talking about your vampire cons, Kanaya?” Porrim yells from the couch, and Kanaya flushes bright red.  
“Porrim!”  
Roxy cranes her neck over the back of the couch so she can look at you while she cackles. “Oh, and she likes vampires, too? Rosie, you guys better be best friends by the time we leave or I’m never driving you anywhere again!”  
You ignore her in favour of turning your full attention to Kanaya, who is meeting your eyes with the utmost hesitation.  
“Please don’t feel embarrassed,” you tell her. Your stomach is churning with some untold emotion. Perhaps you have a fever. “For one thing, being made to feel as if you should apologise for your interests is reprehensible and often the product of misogynistic attitudes-,”  
‘Well said,” says Porrim from the couch.  
“- and for another, I also enjoy the study of the supernatural, though I’ve never cosplayed myself. Fiction of the eldritch persuasion in particular is something I like, although I do enjoy vampire stories, too. Also wizards,” you add as an afterthought, even though that’s sort of a you-and-Roxy thing. Kanaya is looking at you with dawning hope brightening her face like the sun after a sudden storm.  
“Do you have any favourites?” she asks tentatively, and you name a few novellas you’ve been devouring recently, and watch as she seems to glow with happiness and recognition.  
“Oh, I love those! I have the whole series,” she says excitedly. “Have you read _Velvet and Vermilion_?” You shake your head, and she clasps her hands to her chest, eye contact unbreaking and almost unbearably fervent. “It’s a prequel to the _Glory of the Night_ series,” she says, naming one of the most prominent works of vampirical fiction in circulation these days. “It’s only available online, though-,” for a moment she hesitates again: you see the chance, and with courage that almost shocks you, you take it.  
“Why don’t you send me the link?” you ask smoothly, pulling out your phone. “Do you use pesterchum?”  
Kanaya beams at you. “I do.”

***

It’s been two weeks since you met Kanaya Maryam, and you’ve been texting almost every day. Winter break is nearly over, and you’re still wandering around the house in a daze- but it’s a different kind of daze than the one incited by your strange and wondrous dreams. No, this daze is entirely new and entirely, utterly distracting. And it’s Maryam-induced. Roxy knows this, because she keeps shooting you these looks, wiggling her eyebrows up and down in a way that’s so immature but also… sort of accurate. Wait, no. No it’s not. Roxy doesn’t know anything about anything. Moving swiftly on.  
But you can’t move swiftly on, because even Mom seems to have some clue: she pats you gently on the elbow on her way to the lab one morning and says, “ah, youth,” to seemingly nobody but herself before disappearing in a cloud of perfume.  
You scowl after her, and then you stop scowling, because your phone- once perpetually kept on silent mode, now reawakened as a noise-making device- is chiming. Kanaya is messaging you back with a thoughtful response to your long paragraph of analysis on the latest chapter of Velvet and Vermilion. You’re smiling at your phone like a fool, and it isn’t even midday yet.

GA: In Short My Theory Is That Cloelias Purported Obliviousness Regarding Melancholias Obvious Affections For Her Are A Ruse   
GA: That Is  
GA: She Absolutely Knows And Is Playing Coy  
GA: What Do You Think  


Again: smiling. Like a fool. You lean against the counter as you format your reply.

TT: I had the same suspicions. Once again, we are proven to be on the same wavelength.  
TT: Actually, I wanted to ask you something.  


You love your sister dearly, but she has the worst timing in the world. Possible the universe. She walks in just as you’re hesitating over the next line, stretching, and freezes mid-yawn to give you her patented eyebrow-wiggle.  
“Texting, are you?” she says, sidling up to you. You turn your screen away from her as subtly as you can manage.  
“I’ve been known to partake in the action,” you say in your driest tone. Her grin does nothing except widen.  
“Texting a certain dark haired green lipsticked fashionable young lass named Kanaya Maryam, are we?” she elaborates, slinging an arm around your shoulders and messing up your hair gleefully. You duck out from under her arm and hastily abscond to the fridge, using the door as a barrier between you and her.  
“And if I am?” you ask, staring unseeingly into the shelves. “We’re friends.”  
“For now,” Roxy says. You can see her spinning around on one of the barstools around the edge of the refrigerator door.  
“What about you?” you shoot back. It is not the most graceful of deflections, that much is certain- but you have to admit, you have something of a weak spot when it comes to matters involving Kanaya and your-  
And your affections for her.  
There, you said it.  
Oh, you’ve admitted it to yourself before, of course, but it still gives you something of a thrill to think the words. You really, really like her, and your conversations over the past two weeks have only cemented this fact.  
“What about me?” Roxy asks, leaping from the stool and bounding over to you. She looked about a second away from collapse when she first walked in in her pyjamas, but it seems that messing with you has imbued her with newfound life and energy. More’s the pity.  
“You and Porrim seemed awfully close,” you say, snagging a snack and closing the door smartly. Roxy follows you as you move out of the kitchen and across the hall into the living room.  
“Now, Rosie,” Roxy says, in her I’m about to lecture you except not really because we both know I hate lectures, both giving and receiving them voice. “I hope you’re not suggesting I’m being fast and loose with my affections.”  
You settle on the sofa, curling your legs beneath you. “I suggested nothing of the sort. However, who am I to blame if that was the first thing that jumped to your mind?”  
“I have Callie and Janey,” Roxy says, draping herself upside down over one of the arms of the couch.  
“That wasn’t a denial.”  
She’s silent for a long moment. You sit up a little straighter. You hadn’t expected to actually get this far- although you certainly had had your suspicions…  
“I love Callie and Jane,” Roxy says finally, and even though she’s upside down, you can hear the sincerity burning through her voice. It’s true. She does love them. It’s ridiculously sappy, and you’d never say it aloud, but the truth is you weren’t entirely sure you believed in true love until Roxy started dating her girlfriends. “I mean, I’m gonna marry the two of them some day, you know?” she rolls her head to the side to look at you, smiling fondly, and you can’t do anything except nod, because you know it’s true. Even if the law doesn’t permit it, Roxy will do it. After all, childish things like legality have never stopped her before.  
“So why did my asking about Porrim make you react like that?” you ask, prompting her. She wrinkles her nose and lets out a long breath.  
“Me and Porrim might have… a li’l bit of history, Rosie,” she says, finally, and pulls herself upright on the couch, tumbling into a sitting position. “It’s in the past! All of it! But, but- the thing is, right, she’s sort of been dropping hints at me recently and I’m just… I don’t know what to do!” The last part she almost wails, dropping her chin into her palms and staring miserably up at you with big round eyes.  
“Are you asking me for advice?” you ask her, and she nods frantically.  
“Yes. And in return I’ll help you win Kanaya’s heart,” she proposes, grinning brilliantly.  
“I- Roxy, no. I can-,” I can do it myself. “I don’t need your help.”  
She just stares at you, grinning like that, until you roll your eyes.  
“It’s simple, really,” you tell her. “Talk to Calliope and Jane about it.”  
Roxy pauses, frowns. “What,” she says.  
“Just talk to them. They’re your partners, your-,” you wave a hand airily, “soulmates, loves of your life- your words. Tell them the situation, tell them you’re feeling unsure. All of you are poly, who knows? Maybe they’d even be okay with…”  
You’re sixteen as of last month, you’ve never dated anyone, your older sister is asking you for relationship advice and there is no way in hell you can finish that sentence. Thankfully, Roxy doesn’t need you to. She’s frowning again, but this time in thought.  
“You know what?” she says, “You’re right. Damn, Rosie, all that wizard fic is making a real love guru outta you!”  
Now it’s your turn to frown at your sister. “ _Complacency of the Learned_ is not just-,”  
Roxy envelops you in a surprise attack hug and drops a kiss on top of your head, cutting you off. You sigh and endure, patting her lightly on the arm. “Thank you, baby sis,” she says, sincere as anything. And then, “Also, I know. _Complacency_ is a fuckin’ masterpiece. Speaking of, you haven’t asked me to beta read in a while. You done with the new chapter, or...?”  
“Oh, right,” you fish your phone out of your pocket again, opening up the document you’re writing on. It’s easier to use your laptop, obviously, but it’s efficient to have it readily available on all of your devices. “Actually, I-,”  
You break off. Kanaya has been messaging you.  
Roxy eyes you. “....what?”  
“I- have to go,” you say, extricating yourself from her grasp and jumping up. You’re out of the door and running up the stairs to your room before she can call after you, and you _can’t believe you just forgot you were in the middle of a conversation with Kanaya!_

GA: Okay  
GA: What Is It You Wanted To Ask  
GA: Rose  
GA: Did You Mean To Stop At The End Of That Sentence Because It Is Making Me Sort Of Nervous  


\-- tentacleTherapist [TT] is now an idle chum! --

GA: Ah  
GA: I Suppose I Will Finish Catching Up On This Chapter Of Complacency Of The Learned While I Wait For You To Respond  
GA: If Indeed You Are Planning On Responding  
GA: Oh Dear I Probably Sound Very  
GA: Annoying  
GA: I Do Not Mean To Put You Under Any Pressure  
GA: To Respond But Also In Any Other Sense I Hope That Is Clear  
GA: Okay I Am Going To Go Read Your Wizard Book Now  
TT: Kanaya!  
GA: Yes  
TT: Sorry, that was- Oh, I see you’re still online. Good.  
GA: I Am Sorry For My Spamming Up There I Am Feeling Rather Embarrassed About It To Be Honest  
TT: Please, don’t apologise. I’m sorry for leaving you hanging like that for so long. My sister accosted me with some...relationship troubles.  
GA: Oh Dear I Hope Everything Is Okay With Her  
TT: She’s fine. Thank you for the concern, though.  
TT: Incidentally, did you read any of Complacency of the Learned in the few minutes before I remembered basic decency and responded?  
TT: That’s not what I was going to ask you originally, I just thought I’d ask since you mentioned it.  
GA: Actually I Didn’t But I Definitely Will Later  
GA: Im Looking Forward To It  
GA: If That Wasnt It Then Pardon My Asking So Profusely But  
GA: What Were You Going To Ask  
TT: Right, yes. That.  
TT: I was going to ask you. A question.  
GA: A Question  
TT: Yes.  
GA: What Kind Of Question  


This is ridiculous. You’re Rose Lalonde, gods damn it. You take a deep breath, and hit send.

TT: Kanaya, would you like to get coffee with me some time this week?  
GA: Yes  
TT: Uh  
GA: Oh That Was Quite Eager Of Me Wasnt It I Apologise  
TT: Not at all, there’s no need to apologise for a quick response. If anything, I should be taking a leaf out of your book on that front. I just wasn’t expecting you to answer so quickly, that’s all.  
TT: You’re sure?  
GA: Yes Rose I Would Love To  
GA: In Fact At Risk Of Sounding Like Melancholia In Chapter Three Of Velvet And Vermilion  
GA: There Is Nothing I Would Rather Do  
TT: And at risk of sounding like the young damsel to whom Melancholia is speaking at that point in the novella,  
TT: There’s absolutely nothing I’d rather do, either.  


Now you’re smiling at your phone again, and your chest feels exceedingly, overwhelmingly warm. The sky outside your bedroom window is brightening, morning draining away to make way for the crisp light of day. It’s cold outside, but in here you are flushed with heat. You’re certain that if Roxy walked in right now she’d do so to find your cheeks burning.

GA: How Does Tomorrow Sound  
TT: Tomorrow is perfect. Would you like to meet in town? Perhaps outside your sister’s parlour?  
GA: I Will Be There  
GA: Perhaps We Should Decide On A Time Though Or I Will Be There All Day And While I Certainly Dont Mind Waiting It Is Quite Cold This Time Of Year  


Now you’re muffling a laugh into your hand, and your heart is beating fast. It’s one thing to put on a sophisticated tone over text- it’s quite another to successfully pull off the facade in real life, and- and now you’re worried about making a fool of yourself in front of Kanaya tomorrow, about allowing yourself to be flustered, or embarrassed, or- heaven forbid- giggly or something. And what the hell are you going to wear?

TT: You’re right. You could end up freezing in place, and we can’t have that.  


Resist the urge to make a joke about thawing her out. Resist it.

TT: How does 2pm sound?  
GA: It Sounds Perfect  
TT: Then I’ll see you then.  
GA: Yes See You Then Rose  


You let yourself sink onto your bed phone held loosely in one hand, and press the other to your chest. Under your palm, you can feel your heart thrumming, thrumming, thrumming away. 

***

That night, you dream of a golden city. It’s collapsing, fracturing apart in great metallic shards that crumble around you as you stand there, watching. The sky is dark and swirling tempestuously; a maelstrom of light and thunder arcs above. You’re standing on a street, and the street is buckling beneath you, undulating and heaving like a great tortured wave. Light pours down all around, and the light is sharp, shearing buildings that it touches away like they’re sand, like a sword through butter. You look up, and in the huge roiling sky you-  
You _see_ -  
Kanaya’s voice echoes around you. It’s just like fate, she says. You see a flash of her dark hair as it falls over her face above you, the edge of her sharp-toothed smile. You see those same teeth, pearly white-  
There is red all around. Kanaya, you hear yourself saying. Kanaya, Kanaya. A pristine teacup rolling slowly across the floor. The whole world heaves, and the clouds above flash bright, searingly bright; you shut your eyes against it-

And when you open them again, you’re lying in bed, sheets pooled around you like water.  
You take a moment to breathe. It’s still dark out, the barest hint of morning filtering through the cracks in your curtains. The clock reads six forty-eight. After a moment, your heartbeat calms down and you sit up in bed, flicking on the light switch. And then you reach for the journal you keep on your bedside table, and you start to write. 

_January sixth. I awoke in my dream to find myself standing amidst the golden city again, bright spires arching up into the brewing storm that engulfed the skies…_

***

You meet Kanaya outside Porrim’s tattoo shop, as you promised. The dream had been fresh in your mind on your way there- you took a bus instead of getting Roxy to drive you as she was busy today with Calliope and Jane, and the journey had given you a lot of time to think. Last night was the first time you’d had any real clarity; every dream before it had been much vaguer. Or maybe you just hadn’t remembered the dreams as well before this morning. Either way, it was weighing on your thoughts. It’s only when you see Kanaya that it disappears completely.  
She’s standing there wearing the same soft black turtleneck she’d been wearing on the first day you met her, and another long skirt, this one bright jade green, brushing the tips of her heeled boots. She’s wrapped in a warm deep green scarf and a dark jacket besides that, and she looks lovely- you almost have to stop in the middle of the street to take it all in as you make your way towards her. She hasn’t noticed you yet, so you can track your eyes over her, taking in the soft curls of her hair, the redness at the tip of her nose from the cold, her lipstick- black today, it matches your own… this is the first time you’ve seen her in person since you met. You’ve video called, but it’s not the same. It’s not the same. 

“Good morning,” you call out as you reach her, and she turns, surprise and happiness dazzling in her expression as she smiles. “I love your outfit. Fashionable as always.”  
“Thank you. You look wonderful,” she returns sincerely, gesturing to your purple-sweater-black-skirt-woolly-tights-to-defend-against-the-cold ensemble. You hold out your gloved hand to her, tucking the end of your scarf- which you’d stolen from Roxy- securely into your long coat. “Shall we?” you ask, and she takes your hand in her own.  
“Let’s,” she agrees. And you do. 

The cafe you picked out is a short walk away, and thankfully not too busy- you find a seat with squashy comfortable chairs near a window and order tea. It’s warm, warmly lit, warm colours but not too bright; deep yellow and purples contrasting but complimentary on the patterned sofas. There are bookshelves across some of the walls, plants on the tables. After shedding her jacket and scarf Kanaya leans forward with interest to examine the leafy plant adorning their table.  
“Oh, this is a lovely specimen,” she says, touching one of the leaves gently, and pulls out her phone to take a picture. “I should send this to Porrim.”  
You smile at her obvious delight. One point to Rose, the date is going well. “I thought you might like it here,” you say, looking around at the various hanging baskets and shelves of flowers. “After you said you liked gardening.”  
Kanaya looks up at you from her phone, a gentle blush appearing over her cheeks. “Thank you for thinking of me,” she says. “You were right. I do like it.”  
Your tea arrives, and you settle into a comfortable conversation, cradling your mugs in cold hands and blowing curls of steam from the surface of the drinks. The minutes pass by easily, and you find yourself laughing, making jokes, using your wit without having to think about it. Kanaya brings it out in you. Her burgeoning sarcasm is at play often, as is her endearing way of clarifying whenever she practices insincerity. You think that you’re different people, but still similar, sharing enough interests to always have something to talk about about- but still, different enough that it’s never boring, that there is always light in her eyes and reflected in your own. 

You’re sixteen, you’ve never dated anyone. You really think you’d like to try it, and you really think you’d like to try it with Kanaya. 

She pushing her hair back absently, waving a hand as she outlines a fan theory about _Glory of the Night_ that she finds outrageous, and you have to take a sip of tea to stop the deliriously fond smile from taking over your face. You’re acting like a lovesick fool, like a child.  
_I suppose I am a child, though, aren’t I?_ you think to yourself. Your first instinct is to rebel against the idea- you’ve always been pedantic, you’ve always felt older than your age- but it might be nice, perhaps, to experience this the way it’s supposed to be experienced. Puppy love. The bloom of youth. You’ve always had sort of an issue with being a child. Maybe you should attempt that thing that Roxy calls _lettin’ go, Rosie!_  
Kanaya pauses in her exceedingly well-spoken rant and you blink, snap yourself back into place, take another sip.  
“All good points,” you say measuredly. “And I have to say, I agree with you. I can simply see no way that Viscount Hellerstern would treat Princess Larenda that way of his own accord…”

The afternoon passes swiftly, on the wings of good conversation and the warm, flickering emotion in your chest that only grows brighter with each word the two of you exchange. Eventually, it grows dark outside. Kanaya darts a glance out of the window and you pause your conversation.  
“Should we head back?” you ask. You’re fine with going your separate ways, of course, but part of you is hoping Kanaya, like you, doesn’t want to end things quite yet…  
“How about we go back to one of our houses and watch the film you were talking about?” she asks instead, and you want to pull her in and kiss her right there and then. You refrain, somehow.  
“Absolutely,” you say instead, “I would love to. Oh, but I would advise against going back to mine. Roxy’s girlfriends are round and trust me when I say you don’t want to get in the middle of that.” Kanaya laughs.  
“I will take your word for it,” she promises, and begins winding her scarf back around her neck. “My house it is, then. My mother and sister are both working at the moment, so we won’t be able to get a lift back there, I’m afraid.”  
“That’s quite alright,” you respond, standing. “We’re two intelligent young women, I’m sure we can decipher the city bus routes together.”

Kanaya offers her hand. You take it, and away you go. 

 

***

It’s your first time in Kanaya’s house, but it’s just as stylish and tasteful as you had expected. Unlike your home, which is ultra-modern and sleek at every turn, Kanaya’s has a certain air of whimsy that nine-foot wizard statues just can’t replicate. There are family pictures adorning the hallway, and the lights are comfortably warm. She ushers you in, and you settle yourselves in front of the television after confirming that no, you don’t want anything to eat or drink. Kanaya busies herself with her laptop, finding the appropriate streaming site, because you’re teenagers and it’s the twenty first century; you’re not going to pay for a movie you can find online for free.  
You busy yourself with admiring the plush material of the couch and the way the jet black of Kanaya’s hair mingles nicely with the softer black of her sweater. 

“I think this is it,” she says, connecting the laptop to the screen. You confirm that that is indeed the right one, and tuck your feet up beneath you, wondering if it would be gauche to put your arm around Kanaya’s shoulders, or reach for her hand. She solves the issue by curling gracefully into the spot right next to you, her thigh pressed to yours. She shoots you a small smile before turning to hit play, and you are so hyper aware of the contact between you that you miss the first fifteen minutes of one of your favourite ever vampire films.  
If this is what love does to a person, you can sort of see why Roxy is so goofy and bubbly all the time. Not that you would ever, ever repeat that aloud. 

You’re halfway through the film, blueish light playing over your faces, when Kanaya’s face seems to whiten, and she stiffens. She’s been silent for a while, but so have you- you’ve been watching. Suddenly, you’re struck with the feeling that you should’ve checked on her before, that all this silence has been markedly different to your own. You say her name, and her eyes flicker to you. She looks… ill, almost; washed out, and not just from the light of the television screen.  
“What’s wrong?” you ask, worried, and she opens her mouth to speak, but never makes it to the sentence. Something bad is about to happen. You know it, with a certainty that you wouldn’t have thought possible. And you also know that you have to do something to help. The good thing, you suppose, in the moments before real fear sets in, is that at least now you know you _can help_. 

Kanaya makes a soft sound, like oh, before she collapses, tipping sideways into your shoulder. You throw an arm around her shoulders, holding her upright; her dark hair keeps slipping to cover her eyes and you brush it away.  
“Kanaya?” you ask, gripping her upper arms tightly. You feel her breath across your face as you lean in, see the way her half-lidded eyes slide just a little further closed. “Kanaya. Kanaya!”  
“-Rose,” she breathes. You have to lean in even further just to hear her; her voice is so weak. She is limp as a ragdoll, but she manages to draw a quick breath. Her lips are parted; she wets her lips. Her teeth look very sharp. She’s so much paler than usual, almost feverish.  
“What do you need?” you ask. You think about calling emergency services. Something in your mind tells you _no_. The movie is still playing in the background, light flickering over the two of you, casting Kanaya’s face first in sharp relief then in dimness. She draws in a shuddering breath, her weight sagging into you. She turns her face away.  
“Kitchen,” she manages, and then, “I’m sorry.”  
You manage to lever the two of you into a sitting position, and throw Kanaya’s arm around your neck, holding onto it for leverage. “Don’t apologise,” you tell her, fighting for a controlled tone. You have to stay calm. In the back of your mind, all you can see is gold, golden towers, golden light. “I’m going to stand up now.” You do, and Kanaya helps as much as she can: she’s fighting for consciousness, but you manage to find an unsteady balance, and then you’re hurrying the both of you to the kitchen, half carrying her. When you get there, Kanaya tilts forwards and you let her sink down to the floor, back against the freezer. You crouch in front of her, one hand on her cheek to stop her head from falling. You stroke her cheekbone lightly, watch the way her lashes flicker at your touch.  
“What next?” you ask, as gently as you can. You can’t betray the panic coursing through you. You feel electrified, adrenaline beating a marching line in your veins. She opens her mouth to answer, and it takes a few seconds for the words to come. Her teeth…  
Her fangs are bigger than they were before.  
“Fridge,” she says faintly. You know exactly what you’re going to find in there when you pull it open, and you’re not disappointed in the slightest. You keep one hand supporting Kanaya’s head which is trying its best to loll alarmingly, and with the other you hover uncertainly over the clear plastic bags of red liquid. Blood. The clear plastic bags of blood. Because Kanaya is a vampire.  
“Which one?” you ask, and she shakes her head. Colour is draining from her face shockingly fast; she is ghostly, almost translucent.  
“Doesn’t- matter...”  
You pull one of the bags out. It has a little ziplock line at the top where you can open it, but you have a feeling that if you just gave it to Kanaya like this it would go everywhere. You glance around and your eyes zero in on a small teacup on the side close to you- you grab it, tear open the seal, and Kanaya’s whole body tenses.  
“One second,” you promise, and she nods jerkily, eyes locked on your hands, almost luminous in the dark. “Nearly there.”  
You don’t know what you expected, but the consistency of it as you pour blood into the teacup is… strange. Thicker than water, certainly. There’s that mystery solved, you suppose, resisting the mad urge to laugh or repeat the joke out loud for Kanaya's benefit. It flows, bright even in the dimness of the kitchen- you were a little too preoccupied to hit the lights on the way in and now the only light source other than the meagre evening light outside is that which is emanating from the half-open fridge.  
Kanaya lifts a hand, and it trembles. You pass her the cup; your fingers brush as you hand it over. You sit back on your heels, still holding onto the bag, and watch. She is utterly focused, bringing the porcelain to her lips. She drinks.  
She finishes the cup and her arm drops to her side as if all of her energy has suddenly run out; the cup falls from her fingers and rolls slowly across the laminate flooring.  
“Kanaya?” you ask softly. She breathes in and out, chest rising and falling, and after a few moments, nods shakily.  
“Yes,” she says, and her voice is steadier now. There is no trace of blood on her lips- if it weren’t for the bag you’re still holding, you might be inclined to think it had never happened.  
She opens her dark eyes, and when she looks at you, she looks- scared.  
You frown reaching out to her. “Are you alright? Wait- that was a stupid question; of course you’re not. Are you feeling better, at least?”  
She looks at your hand, hanging there in midair, as if it’s a foreign object. Just as you’re about to lower it, feeling foolish, she reaches out and takes it in her own. Her grip is cool, but warming up, revitalising.  
“Rose,” she says.  
“Yes?”  
“You…”  
She trails off, staring at your clasped hands. You raise an eyebrow. “I…?”  
Kanaya looks up at you, swallowing hard. “I’m a vampire.”  
You sort of want to laugh, but instead you crack a slow smile, nodding. “Yes, I had gathered that.”  
“You’re not afraid of me?” There’s something like disbelief colouring her voice, and part of you wants to bristle at the suggestion. But you suppose it’s a legitimate fear: not everyone has the same tastes in fiction as you, and not everyone is going through the dawning possibility that they might be some kind of dream-psychic, either.  
“I’m not,” you confirm. “Cloelia wasn’t afraid of Melancholia when they first met, was she?” you add, primly. “And I don’t see why I should be.”  
Kanaya looks at you like you’re an ancient puzzle written in a language she doesn’t speak but is determined to solve regardless. “I could have hurt you,” she says faintly, “I could have- bitten you, or- this is my fault, I should’ve- I just wanted to pretend, just for the day- I-,”  
You cut her off, tightening your grip on her hand. “Kanaya,” you say, calling her eyes to you. “I know you would never hurt me.” It’s the same words Cloelia speaks to Melancholia during their first romantic encounter. Kanaya’s eyes widen; she smiles, shaky.  
“I can’t believe you’re still making references at a time like this,” she says.  
“It’s the truth, though,” you say. “I do know you would never hurt me. Just as I would never hurt you.”  
She swallows, and shifts position so she’s more upright.  
“I’m still sorry,” she says at length, calling your attention away from where you were admiring the shiny glint of her hair. “This wasn’t how I wanted our date to end.”  
“Oh, so it was a date, was it?” you tease, and scoot a little closer when her eyes widen in sudden concern. “No, no, I’m jesting. I’m glad you saw it as a date, because I did, too. And… while I didn’t exactly expect it to end like this, it’s nothing you have to apologise for.”  
Now it’s Kanaya’s turn to raise her eyebrows at you. She conveys intense disbelief very well, even in the dim light. “We’re sitting on the kitchen floor after I fainted on you and you were forced to feed me real blood.”  
You shrug playfully, and she squeezes her eyes shut in a helpless laugh.  
“‘Real blood’, hm?” you echo, eyes wandering to the bag still sitting next to you. “Is it human?”  
Kanaya nods.  
“How did you get it?” you ask, “it can’t be easy to come by.”  
“My mother has contacts at the hospital,” Kanaya says, and you nod slowly.  
“So, your whole family…?”  
She nods, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Porrim and my mother are also- like this.”  
“Vampires.”  
“We actually go by ‘drinkers’,” Kanaya says, “I just thought you probably wouldn’t know what that was.”  
“I haven’t actually heard the term before, no,” you confess, and then you realise over the course of the conversation you’ve sort of… shuffled right up close to Kanaya. You’re in her personal space now, hands still clasped between you, and her thumb is running absently over the back of your hand. It’s nice. This is very nice.  
Kanaya looks up at you, lipstick still almost perfect despite her… beverage.  
“What did you mean by wanting to pretend?” you ask, mostly so that you have an excuse to keep staring at her lips while she looks away to answer.  
“I was… afraid,” she says, gazing solemnly into the distance. “Afraid of telling you about… me, and afraid that, for all your fictional inclinations, you may not react so enthusiastically to a real life Drinker confronting you. Especially one who was supposed to be your friend, and had not yet confided in you. So I resolved to hide it. I overestimated my strength- I should have replenished myself this morning, but I thought…”  
“You thought?” you prompt softly, not wanting to ruin her train of thought but curiosity getting the best of you. Kanaya cuts her eyes back to you, lashes lowering, casting shadows over her cheekbones as she looks down at her lap.  
“I thought it would be nice to pretend, if only for a day, that I was just as human as you,” she admits, hand tightening unconsciously in your own. For a moment you can do nothing except gaze at her, and then you’re moving with a forwardness that surprises even you, tugging on her hand so that she looks up, cupping her cheek once more with your free hand, grazing your thumb lightly over her skin. “You don’t need to pretend,” you tell her, looking deep into her dark eyes. “Being human is overrated, frankly, and- forgive me for the cliche, but it’s the truth- I think you’re perfect just the way you are.”  
Kanaya blinks at you, leaning into the touch. Carefully, hesitantly, she brings her other hand up to rest lightly on your shoulder. “You do?”  
You smile at her. “I do.”  
Her face is a picture of beauty, of dawning delight, and then, shyly, hope. “Rose,” she says very seriously, “may I kiss you?”  
You untangle your other hand from hers, resting it instead on her upper arm. “You may,” you tell her, and when she leans in, you do too, meeting her halfway.  
You lips touch, briefly. She pulls back just slightly, her nose nudging alongside yours. You can’t stop smiling. She leans in again, and this time the contact lasts longer; her hand brushes your hair away from your face, and your knees shift to brush against one another.  
You can taste the faint tang of copper in her mouth as you press closer, but you don’t mind. It’s interesting. This is all very- interesting-  
Who are you kidding? It’s incredible. It’s your first kiss- not just your first kiss with a girl, your first kiss full stop. It’s sweet, and true, and you know you haven’t known her all that long, but you really feel as if this means something- something bigger than the two of you. But you’re not thinking about that right now. You’re thinking about kissing Kanaya.  
Eventually, you need to pull back to breathe. Kanaya, too, is breathing fast, face flushed- so you suppose that answers your question about whether or not she a) has lungs and b) needs to use them.  
“This feels…” she trails off, shaking her head slightly.  
“It’s a little like fate, or something like it, don’t you think?” you ask. She looks back up at you brow smoothing out, and nods.  
“That’s exactly it. Perhaps not destined, per se, but I certainly do feel as though you and I, meeting, becoming close… I feel as if it had to happen. Just like fate.”  
“As if it would’ve happened, regardless of what universe we existed in,” you say.  
She reaches out, sets the cup right-side-up again, looks back at you. “I don’t want to be too forward,” she says slowly, “given that we’ve been on one date, but…”  
“Would you do me the honour of being my girlfriend?” you ask, and the smile breaks across her face like the sun rising, her teeth glimmering like twin crescent moons.  
“Oh, you beat me to it,” she says. “Yes, of course. And would you do the same honour to me?”  
“It would be my pleasure,” you respond, and then you’re both laughing, uncharacteristically giddy and flushed with happiness.  
“I still can’t quite believe this is happening,” she admits after a moment, one hand rubbing absentmindedly at the material of her skirt. You reach down, take her hands, fold them in your own.  
“Then let me convince you it is,” you say, and she lets out a delighted breath in the second before you’re leaning in again, and then she’s meeting you there. 

You’re kneeling next to a half-open fridge full of blood, kissing the girl of your dreams. Her name is Kanaya Maryam, and she’s what most people would probably refer to as a vampire, but you’re lucky enough to call her your girlfriend.

**Author's Note:**

> THANKS FOR READING  
> u can find me on [twitter](www.twitter.com/fraemboise) & [tumblr](www.elricmemes.tumblr.com) or my hs side accs which are [twt](www.twitter.com/karkedkat) and [tung](www.stridercentral.tumblr.com)


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